


Lost In The Shadows

by KaibaSlaveGirl34



Series: The Lost Boys Stories and Crossovers [6]
Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Art, Artistry, Artists, Arts, Career in the Arts, Color Blending, Colors, Drawing, F/M, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Art, Inspired by a Movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaibaSlaveGirl34/pseuds/KaibaSlaveGirl34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if you were betrayed by your own family so they could save their own skin? David allows Michael and Star to become humans but he must give over his sister to him and boys as their end of the deal. A dark version of Beauty and the Beast. ratings go up</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harry2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harry2/gifts).



> Title: [Lost In The Shadows](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7199844/1/Lost_In_The_Shadows)
> 
> Author: [xxxLovely Insanityxxx](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1421483/xxxLovely_Insanityxxx)
> 
> Rating: PG-13 or R- horror violence, language, and sensuality/sexuality
> 
> Summary: What if you were betrayed by your own flesh and blood so they could save their own skin, to be left with a bunch of dangerous vampires? David allows Michael and Star to become humans but Michael must give over his sister to him and the lost boys as their end of the bargain. Celia is furious and hates that her own brother would do this to her but she seems to hate, even fear, her captor more. Will she be able to escape or will Celia be forever lost in the shadows? A dark, mature retelling of Beauty and the Beast; Lost Boys style.
> 
> Characters: Celia (Emma Watson), David (Kiefer Sutherland), Michael (Jason Patric), The Lost Boys (Billy Wirth, Alex Winter, and Brooke McCarter), Sam (Corey Haim), Frogs (Corey Feldman and Jamison Newlander) etc...
> 
> Pairings: David + Celia, Celia + another OC
> 
> Theme: Only One by Yellowcard and Beauty and the Beast by idk (Maybe the Stevie Nick's 1983 version)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Lost Boys.

_Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!_ ~ **Dracula by Bram Stoker**

_I'll be the thorns on every rose_  
_You've been sent by hope (You'll grow cold)_  
_I am the nightmare waking you up_  
_From the dream of a dream of love (Just like before)_ ~ **Vampire Heart by HIM**

**Once upon a time there was a wealthy merchant who lived in France. The merchant had three daughters. The daughters were all very beautiful, but it was the youngest, named Belle, who was by far the most beautiful and pure of heart, unlike her sisters, however, as they were wicked and and selfish. Then, the merchant lost all of his wealth in a tempest at sea and were forced to move into a small farmhouse and work for their living. Some years passed, the merchant discovered that one of the ships that had carried his riches had survived the storm and had harboured back into port; therefore, he must return to the city to discover if it still contained value. But before leaving, he asked his daughters whether they desired that he bring them any sort of gift upon his return. His two elder daughters ask for jewels and fine dresses, thinking that his wealth has returned; Belle was satisfied with the promise of a rose. Her father asked if there was anything she wanted more but Belle was persisted on only just a rose as none grew in their part of the country. Unfortunately, the old merchant found that the ship's cargo had been seized to pay his debts, leaving him without money to use in order to buy his daughters presents.**

**During his return, he became lost in the forest. Seeking shelter, he discovered and entered a magnificent cháteau in the middle of the forest. The merchant found inside tables laden with food and drink, which must have been apparently been left for him by the cháteau's unseen owner. The merchant graciously accepted the hospitality and spent the night. The morning as the merchant was preparing to leave, he saw the most glorious rose garden that he had ever set eyes upon and remembered that Belle wished for a rose. Upon picking the loveliest rose, the old merchant was confronted by a huge, hideous Beast! The Beast was furious and told the merchant for stealing his most precious and cherished possession after accepting his hospitality, the old man must die. The merchant begged for his life and to be set free, arguing he had only picked the rose as a gift for his youngest daughter. The Beast thought about it and agreed to him give the rose to his daughter but on one condition: that the merchant must return or to let his daughter take his place as prisoner. Upset, the merchant agreed and went on his way. Upon arriving home, the merchant told his daughters of the rose and the Beast. Belle agrees to take her father's place, despite her father's pleas. The Beast received her courteously and informed that she was the mistress of the castle, and he was her humble servant.**

**For several months, Belle lived a life of luxury at the cháteau, being waited on hand and foot by the Beast's invisible servants, having no end of riches to amuse her and an endless supply of exquisite finery to wear. The Beast lavished on her with clothing, food, jewels and presents, and carried on lengthy and endless conversations with her. Each night, the Beast would ask Belle if she was happy here with him and she would reply yes. He would then ask her to marry him, only to be refused each and every single time. Months passed and Belle became homesick and begged the Beast to allow her to visit her family. He allowed it, if she will return to him within the next week. Belle complies and sets off for home with an enchanted mirror and ring; The mirror will allow her to see what is going on back at the Beast's cháteau, and the ring allows her to return to the castle in an instant when she turns it three times around her finger. Her father, who had been sick, was overjoyed to see his youngest child; her sisters, however, were surprised to find Belle well fed and dressed in finery instead of being malnourished and in rags. They became jealous of her happy life at the castle, and, hearing that she must return to the Beast on the certain day, begged her to stay another day or two, even putting onions in their eyes to appear they were crying! They said that the Beast would be angry with Belle for breaking her promise and will eat her alive. Belle was touched by her sister's false show of love and agrees to stay.**

**However, Belle began to miss the Beast and felt guilty for breaking her promise. She uses the mirror to see him back at the castle. She was hurried by her discovery that the Beast was lying half-dead from heartbreak in the rose garden where her father had stolen from and immediately uses the ring to returns to the Beast. After she returned, Belle found the Beast nearly dead. She cried over him, saying that she loved him. The Beast asked her if she was telling the truth; she said yes and told the Beast she loved him again and that she wanted to marry him and she would never leave him again. When Belle's tears struck him, the Beast transformed into a handsome prince. The Prince told Belle that long ago, a faerie turned him into a hideous beast after he refused to give her shelter from the rain, and that only by finding true love, despite his ugliness, would the curse be broken. He and Belle get married and they lived happily ever after together.**

**This was my absolute favorite story when I was little. I loved how everything felt so magical and how it was so different from all the other fairy tales where the damsel in distress falls in love with her prince and they get married the next day. It actually didn't look like a love story at all. Those stories only sounded like my Uncle Kevin's shotgun wedding with his secretary in Las Vegas. This story was different to me because it took time and months for Belle and the Beast to get to know each other and fall in love. It didn't make me think about Belle's captivity and how she first felt about the Beast at first.**

**Until now.**

**Only, my dilemma is a little different. Though I'm here against my will, there's no way of escaping. I also had no choice or say in my predicament. I was just brought here and am now kept prisoner. And unlike Belle or those other fairy tale ladies, I can't get out; there's no escaping, no rescue, no prince to come and save me and there's no way, no gentleman Beast who's kind and gentle who fulfills my every want and needs or that needs help out of a curse because he's in love with it, making him one of the most sadistic and cruel monsters ever to live on Earth. And he or his cult are not going to let go of their "pet".**

**Welcome to my hell.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice feedback is very much appreciated, of course. :)


	2. Beauty Has Her Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celia has a serious discussion about The Beatles and The Doors and which is better between the two, and then gets into a knock-down, drag-out fight with her father before heading to her art lesson with Abram ‘Abe’ Weir.

**Celia's POV**

The sun shined through the opened windows of Bryce Hastings's TriBeCa's townhouse. It wasn't really his real, daily living residence; that one was a mansion up in the Upper East Side. Bryce just used this place for parties when his mother didn't want puke and guts all over her precious Shaw carpets, like any of that mattered. Apparently, all that mattered at the moment was who were the British gods of classic rock: The Beatles or The Rolling Stones. Lot of debating and people still getting over their hangover made it a bit more entertaining.

"You can't just prefer The Rolling Stones over The Beatles!" Jimi Binx cried out. "That is just so wrong on so many levels. I'm not sure you can actually compare anything to the Beatles-"

"Says you!" laughed Anita Madison, Bryce's girlfriend and the annoying chick in my art history class. "The Rolling Stones are still going on and kicking it! Face it, darling, The Beatles are dead. Quite literally dead, actually!" And so more annoying helium-like giggling continues.

"Now wait a minute, we all should know who are the gods of classic rock: The Doors." Bryce crowed. "Seriously, their music is amazing and sick-"

"-I thought we were talking about British classic rock." I said. "And last time that I checked, The Doors were American."

The idiotic grin on Bryce's face faded. "Man, Celia, why you always harshing me? Why you always so-"

Ruta Valquez, a diplomat's daughter, cuts him off. "Oh don't bother, Bryce. You know why."

"Yeah baby, we all do. It's getting boring," said Anita.

"And one last thing," I said, ignoring them. "And if my memory serves me correct from last week, when Mr. Canovas asked us who was our inspirations. Jimi said- besides John Lennon- that his inspiration was Jim Morrison. And then I hear giggling from behind and a little voice saying, 'That crack head? Makes sense.' So yeah, it does make sense when you also love going through your brother's weed because you just gotta have a high moment. However, I can't decide what moment shows off your intelligence: this or when you said that that WWII was that thing where we went to fight off the Chinese? That was the Japanese, dumbass, and we didn't fight the Chinese till a few years down the road in the Korean War. Now what do you think makes you feel high and mighty now?"

Bryce's eyes harden. His mouth twitched. "You're battery acid. You know that?"

"I do."

I am. I can be when I want to. No doubt about it. I like humiliating Bryce. I like causing him pain. It feels good. It feels better than his dad's whiskey. Because for just a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For a few seconds, I'm not alone.

I plopped down on the couch and sing the first verse and chorus of The Door's "People Are Strange" and then "L.A. Woman". A bit over exagerrated and badly, but it does the trick. Bryce swears at me and storms off.

Ruta glared. "That was brutal, Celia. He's a fragile soul," she says; then she takes off after him. Anita takes off after her.

I called out, "Not my fault that he doesn't think before he says anything!"

Ruta doesn't give a rat's ass about Bryce or his precious fragile soul. The only thing she'll ever want from him is her buzz from the alcohol and drugs for the morning and then she's ready to go out and face the world.

I sit up on the couch and grabbed for the phone and start dialing the number I needed. The other end keeps ringing and ringing until it's finally picked up by its owner. "Sanjay, party's over. Need you to come get me and Jimi."

"It's 8:30!" Sanjay whined, sleep still evident in his voice. "I got a cousin's wedding in a few hours! Couldn't you call your dad-"

"No way!" I cut him off. "The last thing I need is another battle of WWIII in the morning. Please?"

I heard him sigh on the other end and say, "Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes."

After that was over, I turned and saw Jimi taking out his pack of cigarettes.

"Hey. Can I have a smoke?" I asked. He gave me a cigarette and lit it up for me.

"I thought you didn't smoke?" Asked Jimi.

"I don't," I said after taking a drag. "But I don't have any coffee right now to get me easy and relaxed. Besides, there's always a first for everything." Another drag and blow. "And by the way, definitely the Beatles."

* * *

I opened the front door slowly- very, very slowly and quietly so as not to wake anybody and get caught. That was the last I needed right now. I looked around the living room. No Dad or Step-Whore in sight. I breathed in a sigh of relief and continued my way to my room. As I was climbing up the stairs, I was stopped by a voice near me, "Had fun at the party?"

Shit.

I turned to see Dad coming out of the hallway that lead to the kitchen. He looked weary and pissed off, but that wasn't anything new. He's looked that way ever since the divorce. "I hope you do realize that you missed your curfew."

"Yeah, Dad, I know." I sighed. I knew this was going to happen anyway; I just didn't want to hear it right now. A door opened, and I saw my very pregnant stepmother, Gloria, coming and standing at the landing of the stairs.

"Stephen, is everything alright?" she asked, her Spanish accent drawling all over the question.

"Yes Gloria, everything is fine," Dad reassured her, smiling. "I just need to speak to Celia for a moment. You go on back to bed."

Gloria smiled back and left. The smile on my father's face was gone in a flash, and his stone cold expression was back when he turned to face me. "Living room. Now."

I sighed again and walked back down and into the living room. I sat back on the rocking chair that had been my grandmother's, while Dad sat on the couch facing me.

"Celia, this has to stop." He said, which sounded more like an order coming from a military general, not from a brain surgeon.

I shrugged my shoulders and nodded my head.

"I mean it."

"I know you do." I muttered, turning to look at the window but not him.

"Look at me." He pleaded. I didn't and he sighed. "You've been here for a month to take that Art program and you act out. Going to parties without my permission, disrespecting myself and Gloria. I get a call from the headmistress at Rothschild's. Saying you're getting into fights with Bryce Hastings-"

Okay, I had to laugh at that one because Bryce was a pussy when it came to fighting with me or even anyone. Dad's glare only deepens. I rolled my eyes and muttered, "Sorry."

He did the same thing and sighed. "And what type of things you're doing there-"

"Like what?"

"Like creating things too disturbingly macabre and dark-"

"But that's art! Being creative! I thought that was the point in being an artist-"

"You used to paint and draw so many lighthearted things and landscapes-"

"And I still do! But I also found another thing I like to make besides that," I pointed out. "With everything I do, art is everything I wanna do when I'm older-"

"Just stop there, please!" Dad hissed. "Do you hear yourself? You want to be an artist- as a career?"

I nodded my head as a 'yes'.

And then, something happened. My father's lips started to wear an odd kind of smile. And then, derisive laughter escapes him. It was loud and hearty that I thought Gloria would come down to see what was the matter. But there was no sympathy. Just cold, mock, and humorless. Then Dad stopped abruptly, and he was back to being cold and calculating. "You can't be serious!"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I am."

He scoffed. "That is no way to make a living!"

"Yes it is!"

"There must be something else you want to do than this. Like a doctor, teacher-"

"But I want to be an artist!" I snarled. "I never want to be like you!"

Dad looked like he'd been slapped. "My God, Ceely," He said. "Why must you be so difficult? Why can you just be-"

"What?" I scoffed "What d'you want me to be like? Like Michael?"

Dad sighed in frustration. "That's not what I meant-"

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what you mean, Dad."

I want to stop the words, but I can't. Dad means well. I guess in his own way. He cares. I know he does. But I can't stop. Because even if he means well doesn't excuse him. He shouldn't have said. He knows that. I know that. The rage is there, rising higher, and I can't stop it.

"You wished that I was more like Mike," I told him. "Sweet, good, Saint Michael. The perfect son. The perfect child that doesn't do anything wrong. Well let me tell you something, I'm sorry I can't be more like-"

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" Dad finally lost it. Everything was silent.

The anger inside of me is still there, red and deadly. I look away, trying to wrestle it down, bite my tongue down till it started to bleed so I wouldn't say anything that I was going to regret later, wishing he would just leave it alone and go to work. Wishing I was hearing a lecture about art history but not his voice. Wishing I was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or the Cloisters. Wishing I was upstairs and working on my latest project. Art was all that I wanted and needed. It kept me sane and balanced. My art teacher and mentor at Rothchild's, Abram Weir, said I had the talent and the making to be a professional artist. Which reminded me, I'm supposed to be at my art lesson with Abram. Right now.

"How is my Georgia, _ja_?" he always said when I came into his classroom. His favorite artists were Picasso, Van Gogh, and the no-brainer, Georgia O'Keeffe.

Abram Weir is old. He's seventy-five and wears a small gold hoop earring in his left ear. He originally came from Cologne. When he was in his teens or twenties, he lost his father at Auschwitz. He was separated from his girlfriend, Anna, his mother and sisters when they were on the train; his father was gassed on their 22nd day at the concentration camp because he was too weak to work. Abram was able to get out when the American soldiers came and liberated the camp, and he travelled to Paris to make a living as a painter and then later came to New York when he earned enough money.

I knew what Abram would say about the argument. He'd say that some people were ignoramuses, but yeah, it was going to be a tough road to follow in order to be an artist. You had to give everything you got to make it cut. He was on that road before. He says I've got what it takes to be on that long road. And so what was the point to piss all over yourself about it? Abram wouldn't make a tragedy of it. He knew better. He knew tragedy. He knew loss. And he knew there was no such thing as forgiveness.

"Celia? Celia, are you hearing anything I'm saying?"

Dad is still at it.

"Yes, Dad, I am," I said solemnly, hoping that if I look contrite I might get out of here before midnight.

"If you don't clean up your act and continue pulling shit, then I'm going to pull you out of St. Rothchild's Art Program and send you back to your mother in Santa Carla."

My head shot up at this. I shake my head, cutting him off. Both legs were jiggling now. I'm sweating. Trembling. I need my classroom. My teacher and mentor. I need my art. Badly. Very badly. Now.

"You can't do that!" I hissed.

"I'm still your father. I can and I will." He shot then sighed deeply. "I'm already late for work. I only stayed behind so I would talk about this with you."

He got up, grabbed his suitcase and walked to the door. "I expect change, Celia. I mean it or you're going to Santa Carla. Is that clear?"

I don't say anything. I just remained silent. I nodded. Not caring. Not at all. Just desperate to get to my lesson. The door shuts and he leaves. I jumped out of the seat, grabbed my bag that had all of my art supplies, running out of the door and getting a cab to take me to 100 Fifth Ave.. Thirty-nine minutes left. The cab stops, I paid and rush into my destination. Luckily the halls are nearly empty. I break into a mad run. I thanked God from heaven above that no faculty or staff didn't tell me to slow down. I'm paying no attention. I'm paying no attention, running flat out, when suddenly my foot catches on something and I'm airborne. I hit the floor hard, feel the breath knocked out of me and knees slam down, my chest, my chin. Some of my supplies scatter across the floor. My right knee is stinging. I can taste blood in my mouth.

"Oops."

I look up. It's Bryce. He's walking backward down the hall, smirking and feeling smug. Anita is with him. I get up. He tripped me. Payback for making him look like a total idiot this morning.

"Be careful, Celia. You could break your neck that way," he says.

I shake my head. "Really, Bryce," I reply. "Out of all the millions of ways you could get back at me, you choose the 2nd grade. Juvenile choice. However, I'm not surprised by the effort." I lick the dripping blood from my mouth as I spoke.

Bryce stops dead, and his smirk slips. He looks confused, then annoyed.

" _Freak._ Let's get out of here." Anita hisses. She tugs on his arm.

I get up, get my stuff off the floor, and limp off — down the hallway, and around a corner. And then I'm there. Finally there. I yanked open the door.

Abram looked up from a canvas he was working on. He smiled. "How's my Georgia, _ja_?"

"Like I'm about to lose my head," I reply, my voice cracking while I give him a weak smile.

His bushy white brows shoot up. His eyes, huge, travel from my bloody mouth to my bloody knee. He crosses the room before grabbing a book and more paint brushes and pencils.

"Shall we now begin our lesson, _ja_?" He asked.

I wiped my mouth on the collar of my shirt. " _Ja_ , Abe," I said. "I'm ready to learn more about medieval art and Bosch. Please, _please_ continue."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice feedback is very much appreciated, of course. :)


	3. Two Unexpected Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celia tells Abram what had happened to her as well as the reasons why. Then, when Bryce makes a move on her, she fights back and tells him to leave. Finally, Michael shows up..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter of Lost In The Shadows. I hope you're liking this story as much as I do myself. :)

**Celia's POV**

I always took the long way driving home with Sanjay and Jimi after dinner at Roxy's. Up Seventh Ave. from Sixth Ave. Through the streets of old Chelsea. What's left of it. Then we turn right on my street, Cranberry, reading The Shining and listening to Sanjay and Jimi talking about the wedding.

Sanjay Gupta and Jimi Binx were my best friends and both residents of NYC. Sanjay I met Sanjay on my first day at the Art Program (or as we call it, 5week), when I had accidentally tripped him over with my hunched over back while I was tying my shoelaces, and then bumped into him again with the chili cheese dog and fries that was my lunch. Not the best of luck. Luckily, he was able to forgive and forget about it and decided to start over. From what I learned, Sanjay was President of the Honor Society, debate team, chess club, and the Model United Nations. Member of the Peace Corps. and Amnesty international, volunteer at a soup kitchen and the ASPCA, and most likely to get into any of Ivy League Colleges in the United States. He was a nerd but, he was my nerd.

Jimi was another story. He was the complete polar opposite of Sanjay Gupta, and yet they were friends. Sanjay introduced me to Jimi after the accidental incidents. Jimi was like Jimi Hendrix reincarnated, hence the names. He was amazing sick with the guitar, as well as art, music and poetry. He told me the only reason Sanjay joined 5week was so he could talk to Khadija Dhawan (who actually became his girlfriend two weeks later). Another thing about Jimi was that he was gay and he was proud of it. That was a part of him that I admired. He didn't mind what people would say behind his back and went on his way. After he pummelled you to a bloody pulp, that is.

I gave up trying to read and just listened to them talk. Michael and others would've probably found it a shocker. Saying it was usually hard for me to get out of a book because I always had my nose stuck in it. Today was different. Everything just felt so off and balanced. Like something wasn't right.

Abram and I painted, worked and talked for hours. Before we started, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me.

"What happened?"

"I fell."

He just stared at me.

I sighed. "Bryce tripped me as payback and I fell."

He still gave me that over the top of his glasses — his you're-not-telling-me-everything look.

"Dad and I got into it again," I said. "He started saying that being an artist would not be a good, practical career for me and it all went wrong from there." I took in a breath and sighed. "He also said that if I didn't get straighten up, then he's sending me back to my mom in Santa Carla. You know, the murder capital of the world?"

Abram nodded.

"I'm not going back there. I've always hated that place. He wouldn't do that, would he?"

Abram just shrugged his shoulders and continued to stay quiet.

"Besides, I don't think Mom's ready to see me after what happened between us. I don't know... I think sometimes they wished I wasn't different, worldly. They want me to be the little perfect, good yuppie daughter that is as fun as a doormat. Want Sam and I to be more like Michael."

I laughed bitterly. "I swear! I thought I heard him saying that he was given the wrong children after Mike was born, once."

Abram nodded, then said, "Now why with all this self pity? You should know I don't tolerate that in my classroom from my students, especially from you. Self pity gets you nowhere in life; it leaves us stuck in the past wondering what could have been and what not. As for being different and worldly, I see nothing wrong with it — after all, Van Gogh was all those things, was he not?"

He kept looking at me, waiting for my reply.

I could only smile and said, "You're right."

"And you can't leave New York! Remember?"

"Yeah!" I laughed. "There is no way I'm missing that trip to Paris over anything."

Every year for 5week, St. Rothchild's selected several students to travel to any of the famous art places in the world. Last year, they took everyone to Florence. This year, they were taking students to Paris. I was one of the lucky students to be picked. I had been dreaming about it for weeks. If there was any place to go for art, then it was Paris. Going to see the Louvre, the Musée des Arts Derniers and such more. I so wasn't going to screw this up.

"Well then," said Abram. "Now that is settled, we continue, _ja_?"

" _Ja,_ " I said softly, feeling better.

We continued with our lesson then. He cut me no slack for my injuries and swore like a pirate if I messed something up in my project. Despite that, and though I would never admit it to him or to anyone else, I sometimes wished that Abram had been born something years later and been my father.

"Earth to Accident Prone!" I looked up and saw Jimi waving his hand across my vision. I swatted it away and glared.

"You rang?" I asked.

"You okay?" Jimi's eyebrows furrowed in concern. I guess I couldn't be irritated with him when he's like that.

"I'm fine," I said softly. "Just tired... and still a little sore."

"Could've been worse," Sanjay said, looking at me in the mirror. "Could've gotten a concussion from hitting your head after Bryce tripped you."

I rolled my eyes, but then grinned. "Yeah, I know. I just don't see why I have to get his unwanted attention. Even when I don't make him look like an idiot and humiliate him in public."

"Maybe he _likes_ you?"

I just looked at Jimi as if he were the Devil himself. "Yeah right! Like that would ever happen in a million years!"

"You'll never know."

"And you do remember that he has a girlfriend?"

"They could break up. You did say he's handsome-"

"I may have said that, but he's rude, conceited — not someone who I would go out with. Like I said, like that would never happen."

"And like I said, you'll never know."

And that was where it ended. I would never tell Sanjay or Jimi, but when I first met Bryce, I did had a crush on him. But that was **before** I found out he was a jerk; end of story, thank you very much.

It began raining in the summer air. The summer air made the night hot and sticky as I got out of Sanjay's Tahoe. The environment was peaceful and quiet, though you could still hear the distant sound of police sirens. I slipped into the house silently and padded into the living room and opening up my book again to read. I didn't call out to see if anyone was home. Dad was probably still at the hospital, and Gloria was also still probably at her baby shower in Madison Square Gardens. I didn't mind. I actually liked it when I was the only one home. No forced conversations, no fake smiles and laughs, no arguments, no fights-

I was pulled out of my thoughts when there was a knock and a ringing of the doorbell.

I spoke too soon.

I got up from my spot to go answer the door. I never thought that this person would show his face here. Bryce Hastings was leaning against the door frame, wear a long sleeved white that was unbutton to his chest, showing of the black wifebeater under it, and a loose black tie round his neck and black pants and converses. His usual unkempt brown hair was still over his blue eyes. People would've called him handsome. I think that he's handsome from the first time I met Bryce, but none of that meant anything. He was still a pompous asshole who thought he could have anything he wanted. And always will be.

"Bryce?" I asked, a bit confused and annoyed all the same. "What are you doing here?"

Bryce grinned lazily and walked right into my house, just pushing me aside. A bit rude much? I got that he was bigger and stronger than I was, but I couldn't help but getting irritated by the whole thing. Bryce went in the living room and sitting himself down on the couch.

"What are you doing here?" I repeated.

He ignored me. He picked up the books and flipped through the pages. "Whatcha reading?"

" _The Shining,_ " I muttered.

He made a face. "I saw that movie. Actually scared the stuffing out of me, and that never happens."

I rolled my eyes. I walked over, snatched the book from his hands and went back to where I was originally. "Read the book; it is, in my opinion, a whole lot better than the Jack Nicholson movie. You won't be able to go to sleep for days."

"Why do you read so much?" Bryce whined. "I always see you with a stack of books every week."

"Thomas Jefferson once said 'you can never have enough books.'" I replied.

"I always thought TJ was a wimp."

"You're impossible!"

"Why, thank you. But seriously, always keeping your head down and reading. Shouldn't be good for someone like you."

"I'll take it as a compliment," I rolled my eyes. "But seriously, why are you here, Bryce?"

"I was driving around the neighborhood. I saw you walking right into this house, and thought I should pay you a visit."

I snorted in a bitter laughter and continued to just stand. "Yeah, right."

Bryce scoffed and made a little pout. "You don't believe me?"

"Do I have a reason to be?"

"No, I just thought we could hang out like friends-"

"Like friends?" I scoffed. "Oh, that's rich! Friends don't usually try killing their friends by tripping them when they're already late for something!"

"Yeah, about that," he said, rubbing his chin with his hand. "I wanted to apologize."

Whatever else I had expected to come out of his lips, it wasn't that. Bryce Hastings was never one to apologize. After he said or did something to someone, he never looked back. But this... was way unlike him.

The surprise I felt must've been on my face, because Bryce grinned again and said, "You look shell-shocked."

I finally recovered and just glared. "And why should forgive you? Clearly you haven't asked for that for all the times since I've known you."

"I was hoping that we could over and make amends-"

"And why should we?"

In the exact instant, Bryce got off of the couch and walked over at me. He stared down at me with dark and emotion filled eyes. The emotions, I didn't know. It was like a mixture of complexity and... excitement? Then he roughly took me by my arms and kissed me on the lips, forceful and hard. My eyes widen till they're the size of golf balls. I was shocked. Completely shell shocked! I didn't know what to do till Bryce let his tongue enter my mouth; I Immediately pushed him off of me.

 _"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"_ I snarled. I was beyond being furious! I felt as if something that wasn't me coming over and possessing my entire body.

Bryce just looked at me all confused, making my temper rise even higher.

"Well?"

"I thought that was what you wanted-"

"Are you seriously that fucking stupid? What would make you think that?"

"Because I'm in love with you!"

That caught me off guard. The room became quiet. Finally, I said, "No, you don't."

"Yes I do!" Bryce yelled. "I've always have-"

"So tripping me, nearly breaking my neck and all the other times? That was your way of showing 'love' for me?"

Bryce actually looked embarrassed by that. "It was Anita's idea. I had to play along, but I really didn't want to; plus, deep down, I felt bad about it. We had a fight about it later and then I broke up-"

"You broke up with Anita?" I nearly screamed. "Why?"

"It was bound to happen anyway!" Bryce retorted. "She was getting way too clingy and easy for me. Why aren't you happy? I did this so we can be together-"

"Do you hear yourself? I never want to be with you! Why would you want me anyway?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Bryce screamed. "We're perfect for each other! You're hot, I'm hot, and so hard to get! Besides, I've always liked a challenge."

The blood red rage growing by the second. That egotistical, conceited, chauvinistic, vile pig! Bryce, thinking that he finally won me over, came over to try and kiss me again. Wrong answer. I pushed him off of me and snarled, "Get out!"

"What-"

 _"I SAID GET OUT!"_ I was really surprised by my new found strength because of my adrenaline rage rush. I yanked opened the door and roughly kicked him out of my house.

I then bolted the door shut. I felt him banging on the door furiously and screaming, "You can't hide in there forever! You're gonna come out eventually, damn it! And let me tell you something! We will be together! Make no mistake about that!"

It all stopped and it became quiet. God, I hope he left! I kept my leaning back to the door, letting my furiously pounding heart to cease. When it finally did, I took my back off the door to go upstairs and rest, until-

Someone started pounding on the door.

He never knew when to quit! I unbolted and yanked the door open, shouting, "I swear to god Bryce! If you don't leave, I will-"

"Who the hell is _Bryce_?"

I stopped dead short. Slowly opening my eyes again, I looked into the old familiar face that I hadn't seen in over a month.

" _Michael?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice feedback is very much appreciated, of course.. :)


	4. The Brother’s Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celia encounters Michael after a long time, and Michael kidnaps her....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter of Lost In The Shadows. Hope you like it... :)

**Celia’s POV**

I had to admit that it was a bit odd seeing Mike here... and uncomfortable.

Why? Well, let’s just say that we were not close. Ever since we were little, we were always finding ways to get back at the other, compete against each other for attention, messing with each other because the other did something, or we just felt like it... the whole enchilada of sibling rivalry. I even remember some relative telling me that when I was born and was able to come home from the hospital five days later, that Michael had actually put me in a box with punched out air-holes and had actually tried to mail me back to the hospital. I had to admit, it was funny and so very wrong. Did he really think I was that bad as a baby? I think I would have to disagree with that; but Mike said that I must have been, because he had really wanted a brother instead. He would get his wish down the road two years later when Sam was born.

If only he and Dad would've known earlier that Sam was different. They had expected Sam to get into sports (particularly football) and other stereotypical guy interests and activities. They never expected him to play with dolls and wanting to wear pink. As he got older, dolls became comic books and wearing pink became wearing eccentric clothing to his said eccentric personality. Mom and I were fine with it. It took Michael a while to get over it because he felt like he got cheated into having another 'sister', but he got into the routine to protect his baby brother. Dad... I don't know when he was going to grasp the facts of reality. I think he was still trying absorb the fact when he found out that Sam liked guys instead of girls.

It was basically Sam and I against the world. Like I said before, I think Dad thought he got the wrong two children after Mike was born, instead of his two perfect yuppie fish.

"You in there?" A voice called out.

I shook my head to get out of memory lane; I glanced at Michael sitting on Dad's recliner chair across from me. What was he doing here? Shouldn't he be in Santa Carla, where he is supposed to be?

"Yes," I snapped. "What are you doing here, Mike?"

He didn't answer. He looked over his shoulder at the door, and then turned back looking at me. "Who was that?"

"Who?"

"That guy that just walked out the door."

"A guy from 5week. No one important."

"He didn't think so."

I grimaced when I thought about Bryce. "I don't think you need to worry about him."

One of Michael's eyebrows perked up in curiosity. "I don't?"

"You never had a reason before to worry about me," I sneered. _Or anything else that ever concerned me,_ I thought to myself.

"Besides, he's not who I'm dating right now."

"You have a boyfriend?"

"Yep. My old neighbor, Mr. Sanchez. He's really, really old, but he's my type of boyfriend material. The sex is incredible."

His face darkens. "Is that suppose to be funny? Because it's not. Why do you always have to be so..."

A bitch? Horrible? Terrible? Downright shitty? I'm this way to him because I am. We've always been this way. Nothing changes. There was no need for us to act like we were friends; He knew that, I knew that. I could only sigh. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Which is?" he asked.

 _"What are you doing here in New York?"_ I asked again, hoping that the annoyance will be shoved into his face this time. "Shouldn't you be over at Santa Carla? Doing like- I don't know- surfing or being a dick like you usually are over there instead of here?"

Michael glared at me, but then his face softened. It was strange. He looked so... torn and vulnerable. He looked as if he didn't know what to do. That wasn't my usually arrogant older brother. The feeling of anxiety came back over me. Something wasn't right; I knew it.

Finally, "You need to come back to Santa Carla."

"What-"

"You heard me!" He snapped. I almost flinched. The way he said it nearly came out as a growl.

"But why-" I honestly didn't know what to say to him. Then, panic started bubbling through my body. "Oh god... it's Sam, isn't it? Is he okay? Did something happen to him? Oh god!"

"Sam's fine!" he assured. "He's fine and all right as ever."

"What about mom?"

"She's all right too."

"Grandpa?"

"I honestly think that nothing bad can happen to the old fart."

"Then why do I need to come over already?" I asked. I thought back to Dad's words from earlier that day. _'If you don't clean up your act and continue pulling shit, then I'm going to pull you out of St. Rothchild's Art Program and send you back to your mother in Santa Carla.'_ I wasn't about to let that to slip to Michael.

"I thought we agreed that I will go to Santa Carla after 5week was over."

"There's been a change of plans."

"What kind of 'change of plans'?" I asked, confused.

Michael was quiet. He looked over at the door, as if expecting someone to come in and interrupt our family reunion. He turned back around, sighed and remained quiet. Finally, he said, "You won't believe what I'm gonna tell you."

I was silent, contemplating on what he was going to tell me. He took that as his answer to continue.

"It all started on our first night in Santa Carla..."

He told me everything. How he met a girl named Star and this group of teenage bikers, called 'The Lost Boys'. There names were Marko, Paul, Dwayne and David. Michael knew they were trouble, but he was impressed by them... how they lived by their own rules and did whatever they wanted. They took him to the place where they lived, and let him drink from a bottle that was filled with David's 'blood', they said; that was when things started to change.

Worst was to come.

* * *

**Michael's POV/Regular POV**

_Why did he choose to follow David and the others? Michael was beginning to regret never saying 'no' when he had the chance. Now, he watched the attack helplessly from behind the trees. He would never forget that grisly spectacle that was before his eyes, for as long as he lived. Blood and limbs flying into the air and fire; screams and catcalls from the boys, rejoicing in their bloodlust and carnage, beckoning the halfling to join them. He turned away and he felt bile rising in his throat. Sweat started to beat down Michael's forehead and his natural color left his face._

_His breathing became heavy and his heart began to pound powerfully in his chest like an angry, beating drum. He felt the demonic-_ vampire _side in him beginning to take over and as the Lost Boys shouted his name, Michael felt compelled to join them, but he resisted with all of his strength he could muster; Michael practically dugged his fingernails into the tree beside him, determined not to budge._

_But David and the others knew- Michael knew- that it was going to be a losing battle._

_His breathing becomes heavy and his heart begins to pound furiously in his chest. He could actually feel it beating harder and harder, louder and louder. Dazed and frightened, he tries to escape down the tree. All the while the sound of the vampire beach massacre continues in the distance. He slides gasping and sweating onto the forest floor. For a moment, Michael just lies there on the ground, looking bewildered and panting heavily. It was silent. The attack was over. He closed his eyes and sighed. Then, he hears approaching footsteps crushing leaves and snapping twigs. Michael waited, unable to move. Then, the Lost Boys emerge from the dune and shadows, wearing satiated expressions, their eyes glowing dimly. They approached the halfling._

_"Now you know who we  are, Michael... and who you are too," David smirked. Yet his expression was calm and reassuring. "You'll never grow old and you'll never die- but you must feed."_

_"No..." Michael glanced in horror toward the direction of the Surf Nazi attack and back at the boys. David simply lifted a finger to his face and wiped away the blood, but then brought it to his mouth and sucked it off. He chuckled and he, Dwayne, Paul and Marko walk off. That finally brought Michael back to his senses and scurried off after them._

_"You gotta be kidding me- this is a joke right?" He asked them. "I can't be a...a- this thing!"_

_"Aw come on, Mikey! It's fun!" Paul laughed. "You get a real kick out on going after people; chase after them, hearing them scream as you-"_

_"I NEVER WANTED THIS!" Michael screamed at them, making them stop in their tracks. "I NEVER WANTED TO BE A KILLER!"_

_"Maybe you should've thought of that before you went after Star," David said, regarding Michael coolly. "Like any of that matters. Sooner or later, you'll be one of us."_

_"There's gotta be another way- please David!" Michael pleaded. "I don't wanna be like this. There's gotta be something else. I'll do anything-"_

_"Like what, exactly?"_

_"Anything! I'll do anything or give you anything you want-"_

_David darkly chuckled. "And what possibly could you give to me and my boys?"_

_Michael paused for a moment but then continued. "I don't know, but there's has to be something you guys don't have-"_

_David and others remained quiet but attentive. "I can't be this- thing! It's not who I am. I wanna go out, college- I need to take care of my mom and siblings..."_

_"I thought you just had one?" Paul asked, nose and eyebrows scrunched up in confusion._

_"N-no. I have a sister, but she's in New York for the summer..." Michael stopped talking when he saw an unusual glint in David's eye._ 'That can't lead to anything good.' _He thought._

_"What's her name?"_

_"Celia."_

_"What's she doing in New York?"_

_"I don't know! Some art program-"_

_"Is she pretty?"_

_"Why do you care?" It was then that the glint in David's eye became twins in both ceruleans, and a wicked smirk was painted on his face. Michael gulped and let out a ragged breath._

_"No! Anything but her!"_

_"Come on, Michael. You said it yourself," David shrugged. "You would do anything to get your humanity back."_

_"That doesn't mean I'm handing over my sister!"_

_David thought for a moment and clucked his tongue. "Suit yourself."_

_Michael watched the boys leave again. He was torn. Either give them Celia, or stay like this forever? Decisions, decisions. The plot thickens. Then, "Wait!"_

_They stopped. David turned back. "If I give you Celia, what happens?"_

_"It depends." David shrugged. "If she's something that the boys and I would like to have around, you can become human again. Plus, I'll add in a bonus: you can have Star and she becomes human like you. The bitch has been a buzzkill for us. It's an all win situation. Everybody wins and and we all get to live happily ever fucking after."_

_"And how can I know you'll keep your end of the deal?"_

_David smirked. He walked over to the halfling, and slapped a hand on his shoulder as they were two good ol' friends.. "I'm always a man of my word, Michael."_

_Michael considered this for some time. Then he sighed and nodded his head, couldn't actually believe that he was really going to go through this. "Deal."_

* * *

**Celia's POV**

This was a joke, right? Vampires? Was he out of his mind? I opened my mouth slightly but closed it back up. I had listened to Michael's story half appalled and half fascinated. And did he expect me to just flat out believe him? This was insane. Stuff like this just didn't happen in real life. I half expected for Mike to start laughing and say that he couldn't believe I fell for it, and pronounce it all to be a cruel, sick prank. But instead, Michael just stared at me seriously, waiting for me to say something.

"Please say something."

"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding?"

"I know that it sounds crazy!" Michael said. "But I'm telling the truth."

I shook my head and it was then I decided my verdict. "I don't believe you."

"What d'you mean you don't?" He snapped, coming out as a growl. "I'm being serious!"

"Okay then, but I'm still not buying it." I got up and walked to the stairs to go up. "That was a really lame joke you tried to play- but definitely sick. You need help, Mike. You can go and let yourself out. I'm not leaving."

I thought that that would've been the end of it. Until I felt myself being forcefully slammed into the wall, my head hitting it twice as hard. I blinked my eyes rapidly to clear the black spots from my vision, and looked back ahead. Then, that was when I saw some guy holding me against the wall, with his arm against my throat. Only, this wasn’t some guy. This was my older brother. His hair was in disarray, his entire face was contorted into something demonic, his now menacing golden eyes glaring daggers at me. He even had fangs- god forsaken bloody fangs! I take it all back. This wasn’t my brother. This wasn’t Michael Emerson. This was... _a monster_.

 _Vampire_. He had been right.

"Do you think I'm playing now?" He snarled. I cringed at the menace in his voice. I actually felt scared, afraid what he might do. I gulped before trying my best to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, I just shook my head. Michael sighed and he finally released me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do to make you believe me."

"So... so what happens now?" I asked him. I don't know why I asked him that when I already knew the answer.

"You come back with me to Santa Carla and get this mess straightened out."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"No Mike! This is your mess, not mine!" I snapped. "You should've thought about this before you went after that girl!"

"You have to do this! Please!"

"Does Sam know?"

"Yeah, he does. But he doesn't like it-"

"And damn right he shouldn't!" I ran a hand through my hair. The shaky anger from earlier is starting to come back again. "Dammit, Mike! How could you do this? There's gotta be another way-"

"There is no other way!" Michael exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Celia. I'm so sorry, but you have to do this."

I just glared at him hatefully. "You can go to hell!" I spat at him, and turned to make a sprint to the stairs. However, I nearly made it to the fourth stair when Mike grabbed my ankle and dragged me back down. I struggled against him shouting "Let go of me!" as he held down my arms and holding me against the floor as if I was some kind of criminal. A rag of some kind was then held down to my nose, smelling a sickeningly sweet smell before I felt my world turning to black. I looked up at Michael's guilty gaze. I could barely hear him talking, but I did remember this:

"I'm sorry, Celia, but I had to do this. I won't become a monster like _them_."

When I opened my eyes, it was the sun that woke me up. _It was all a dream._ I tried to reassure myself. _‘You’re going to wake up now, and Dad is going to come in and tell you to get your lazy butt out of bed like he always does.’_

But as I opened my eyes, I found myself in an unfamiliar place with people all around me. I looked out the window beside me. All I saw was the sky. I was on a plane. I turned my head again and saw Michael beside me, wearing sunglasses and looking like he was asleep. I felt like I was going to be sick to my stomach. My own brother kidnapped me. He kidnapped me to take me to Santa Carla as a lamb for slaughter to clean up the shit he’s made for himself. Michael woke up and lowered his glasses to look at me.

"Morning, little sis. Are you hungry?"

I glared at him before I spat on his face. He just rolled his eyes and looked ahead, wiping the saliva off of his precious golden boy face. "Well, that was real mature. Let's just hope that if David likes you, you don’t even think about pulling that. He’ll probably break your neck before it even lands on him."

I glared at him hatefully and looked back out the window, not letting him see the tears that were threatening to come leaking out.

This was it. My life was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice feedback is very much appreciated... :)


End file.
